


Everything I've Wanted to Say

by UtTaD



Series: Your Love Is All I Need, and It Holds Me Together [6]
Category: The Last of Us
Genre: Angst, Confessions, Death, Ellie/Joel if you squint, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:33:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25129342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UtTaD/pseuds/UtTaD
Summary: Ellie looks for closure.
Relationships: Ellie & Joel (The Last of Us), Ellie/Joel (The Last of Us)
Series: Your Love Is All I Need, and It Holds Me Together [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/428821
Comments: 21
Kudos: 187





	Everything I've Wanted to Say

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy y'all. I know, I know. I've been dormant for a few years now. Life happened. So many things have happened since I last submitted. Also, I was hesitant to write more content without knowing what Part II entailed. Well, now I know. And I'm not one for veering too far off from canon. So... this is it. This is the last one. And I don't think you need me to tell you why.
> 
> I'm a bit rusty, so please forgive me. But I think I hit every point I wanted to. I hope y'all enjoy it. More notes at the end.

"Ready?"

"Yeah," Ellie says under an exhale. "Let's do this."

Tommy plucks his jacket off the coat rack, flings it behind him to put it on like he's done hundreds of times. He drapes it over his back and gives it that usual, Miller-jacket-flutter so as to flatten the collar and neatly settle it on his shoulders.

She smirks at the sight, a memory darting across her mind. They _really_ were brothers. In so many ways. Funny how many more Joel-isms she notices now that he's... gone. Standing motionless, arms crossed, back resting against the wall of the entryway, she swallows a bit harder than she would've liked at that thought. And she can _definitely_ tell he noticed.

The only Miller left in her life is about to reach for the doorknob, but it only takes a second for him to take note of her strange reaction.

"Ellie?" he says, turning to face her. She's got that look on her face that tells him she's _thinking_. "You alright?"

There's this bout of silence that has him thinking she's already backing out, but he knows her better. She knows better. She wouldn't. _Ellie_ wouldn't.

It takes a few seconds, but eventually she just sighs, puffs out her cheeks, glances toward the floor and lifts herself off the wall to take a few steps deeper into his living room. The simple act of walking out the front door to do _this_ is hard enough. How the fuck is she going to hold it together once she gets there?

_Are you seriously about to fucking ask him this? Tommy has as much of a right to be there as you do._

"Just... " she pauses, that little, freckled nose of hers wrinkling. "Fuck this is so stupid," she groans, turning away from him because she feels so fucking guilty to ask him something as trivial as this.

"Go on," Tommy says, that southern, Miller-tone filling his voice.

_Just fucking ask him you idiot._

She spins around, looks him in the eyes.

"Do you mind if it's just me?"

Tommy folds his arms, goes quiet, though it doesn't look like he cares one way or another.

"I'd rather..." Ellie starts, only to stumble again and look down at her hands. She's doing that picking-at-her-thumbs thing again. She never used to do it. It only became a thing post-Joel. Something she does when she's... uncomfortable _._ It's hard to find comfort these days.

She looks back up at him, their eyes meeting again. "I'd rather do this alone."

Tommy shrugs. "Suit yourself," he says, and he's already removing the jacket he donned mere seconds ago.

_See? Was that so bad?_

"I go every week," he digs at her, heading for the torn-up and tattered couch in his living room.

_Aaand there it is. I knew he was gonna make me feel fucking guilty. Asshole._

When he plops down, looking like the old, worn-out and half-broken man he is, he levels her with a glare and lets her know he _knows_ that one stung a bit. Looks like he enjoyed it too. What a dick.

She grits her teeth then opens her mouth to speak, voice rising when she cuts it loose. "You don't know how fucking hard- "

"Of course I know god dammit," Tommy interrupts, head hanging and hands rubbing his eyes. He looks back up at her, hoping he hasn't changed her mind on the whole thing. Joel deserves it, dead or not. Hell, s _he_ deserves it.

"If you want to be by yourself, reckon that's fine."

Then there's this silence between them that normally would be splintered by Maria. Her timing was always so on-point. But not this time. There is no Maria. It's just them two, because neither of them have much else. Tommy is the closest thing to Joel she has left, but she knows it's not the same. No matter how hard she tries to talk herself into it.

Regardless, it's a silence that tells her he _gets_ it. Because if there's anyone else on this fucking planet that needs an hour of alone-time with Joel's gravestone, it's her. And oh yeah, Tommy _knows_ that.

"Thank you," she says. It comes out quite sincere.

He nods. "Have you been yet?"

She goes quiet, says nothing, looking so _fucking_ guilty it hurts both of them.

"No," she finally mutters with a wince. "Not since it happened." Her voice cracks on that last bit. She's come a long way when it comes to forgiving him, but man are there still some days she misses the fuck out of him.

The answer seems to slice Tommy up a bit, because he knows exactly what his brother did for this girl. Doesn't matter how pissed-off at him she was for it, Joel became born-again-Joel because of Ellie. And Tommy likes to think, that despite her utter distaste for his brother's ultimate sin, that she became _Ellie_ with the help of Joel; a symbiotic relationship like no other.

"Ellie..." he starts.

"What!?"

"It's been a year!"

"So!?" she barks.

"Christ," he mumbles under an exhale, eyes glancing to the floor and paired with a not-so-subtle, disappointed shake of the head. "I just figured - "

"Look," she snaps. "I have my _own_ way of doing this."

Silence. She waits. _He_ waits.

"Okay?" she says rhetorically, voice softening.

Tommy clears his throat, gives her a nod coupled with an "okay" of his own. His eyes look to the front door as if to say _well get your skinny ass outta here._

She doesn't move, not yet anyway. So he gives her one more push. "Well go on then. Here's your chance," he says.

She sighs. "Yeah." And there's an obvious layer of resignation in her voice.

She swipes up her backpack and heads for the door, a quivering hand reaching for the knob.

"Ellie," Tommy says, tone a bit more stern than before.

She merely glances back at him, the majority of her skinny frame already leaning forward, ready to leave.

"You," he starts, voice trembling some, "were his whole _damn_ world. You know that, right?"

 _That_ makes her eyes burn and _fuck_ is she trying her ass off to keep them from getting wet. So she just nods then _finally_ opens the door and steps outside to make the walk to the Jackson cemetery.

Her heart skips a few beats, a nibble of adrenaline trickling through her veins with the first step off of Tommy's porch. Killing for Joel? Easy. Old-hat. She's got ice in her veins. But this? Well, this is different. This is going to be something else. This _is_ something else. She's talked to Joel before. But they haven't _talked_ in years, certainly not like this. And _fuck_ was she looking forward to doing so. Looking forward to things going back to normal.

Too bad. That chance was robbed from her. Like everything else.

It feels like each person she passes on the lively streets of Jackson is judging her, condemning her for not doing _this_ sooner. Half of her thinks it's all in her head, the other convinced they're quietly scolding her with every glance. Or maybe they pity her? Maybe they think to themselves "there's that poor Ellie, who seems to be cursed with tragedy constantly hanging just above those bony shoulders." Fuck it. It doesn't matter. _This_ matters. And the monotonous crunch of gravel and dirt beneath her boots acts as something to focus on; a nice distraction to keep her grounded and not spiral down a dark hole. Counting each step provides her mind something to occupy itself with, though it's barely working because it certainly likes to wander. Especially now _._

Those greenish-blue eyes of hers are glossy and they have this empty, soulless stare to them as she makes her way through town toward the cemetery. And before she knows it her mind can't cling to the beat of her footsteps any longer and she's lost in thought. Lost in thoughts and memories of him. _Them._

_Just focus on the sound of your footsteps, one at a time. We're okay..._

The sky is overcast, filled with a dull, gray hue so thick she thinks she could stick a fork in it. It's autumn - _Joel's favorite -_ with a nip in the air. A gentle breeze has pine needles and maple leaves scuffling with each other all across the road, their earthy orange and brown tones synonymous with Fall. The sound of them rustling in the wind over dirt and cracked pavement, colliding against one another and breaking free from their branches provides a familiar, (warming?)sense of comfort. The wind in the trees. Joel always said he was fond of it, a reminder of his favorite season. He told her on many occasions the months of September, October, November and December contained some of his fondest memories pre-outbreak. Some even post. And whenever he'd tell her about it, because he'd mention it to her at least once a year, he'd always begin the same way. He'd look up at the browning trees, suck in a deep breath of fresh, brisk autumn air and in that soothing southern drawl of his say "reckon I love this time of year." Then he'd mention it had something to do with all the holidays interspersed throughout the season, how it brought friends and families together, those who were important to you _._

Her lips form a subtle smile at the thought. _Then he'd remind you about that weird, confusing-as-fuck game called football. You still never totally learned the rules._

She lifts her stare from the ground, notices the entrance to the cemetery just ahead. And as she does a gust of cold wind blows through her, more brittle leaves skittering across the street. For whatever reason it causes the neurons in her brain to trigger another memory _._

_It looked and felt just like this when we went to Tommy's for our first Thanksgiving in Jackson._

Joel said Thanksgiving was his favorite holiday. It was all about cooking and eating good food, being around those closest to you, being _thankful_ for what you have. And of course, because he could never not mention it, that damn football game again. He'd give her some speech about how Christmas, at least just before pre-outbreak, had become a commercialized and stupid "Hallmark" holiday. _He never explained what the fuck that meant. I still don't know what the hell a Hallmark is._ That it became more about buying a bunch of shit - shit that most people stopped using within a few months or didn't need in the first place - than being with those you cherished. One time he told her Tommy used to get him shirts for Christmas, typical Joel-flannel shit. And every year he would nod and say thank you like the gentleman he was. He'd wear it, like, maybe once, then never again because it just wouldn't fit _quite_ right. He tried to be appreciative _but he always said just Tommy being there with him and Sarah was what mattered._

But that _first_ Thanksgiving here in Jackson was certainly something. She'd never heard of it, nor known anything like it. When they arrived they could already smell the warming aroma of whatever poor, wild turkey Tommy caught that day cooking in the oven. But more than the turkey, the _gravy._ Maria apparently had a "secret" method for throwing it together; something involving onions, leeks and the giblets of the bird. _Fuck it was kick ass._ And man did the whole house smell divine when they stepped inside. She'd never experienced any kind of holiday before, so it was all weird, bizarre and new. No infected to worry about? No Hunters? No Fireflies? No threat of imminent death? Yeah, weird indeed. But it was okay, because Joel was at her side so _everything_ was fine. To break-the-ice she ended up telling Tommy and Maria some stupid joke. She doesn't even remember which one. And once the table was set, they all sat down, Tommy next to Maria, Joel next to her, her eyes going big and round like golf balls upon seeing the feast before her. She'd never seen that much food on a table in her life. And it was all for only the four of them? What a dream. Before Tommy had a chance to say "dig in" she was already constructing her own, personal mountain of mashed potatoes, yams and turkey, topping it with so much gravy it was like lava flowing down the sides of a volcano. Then there was that semi-awkward moment when she immediately stuck a big forkful into her mouth, not realizing Tommy and Maria were trying _so_ hard not to laugh. All the while Joel was smirking like an asshole, only to say her name in that chiding tone that lets her know she's done _something._ And she can still picture every detail of that moment in her head, like some photograph her brain took so she'd hold onto it forever. Can still hear exactly the way she responded _"yesh?"_ with a mouthful. Joel then told her that before they started eating they were supposed to say a little bit about what they were thankful for, which in the current state of the world wasn't much. But Maria was quick to cut him off with a wink and a reassuring _"I think we all know what we're thankful for."_ And _fuck_ does she remember the way he looked at her in that moment, that big, supportive paw of his giving her shoulder a gentle rub. That look... _that_ look. It nearly crumbled her to bits. But she kept it together, wouldn't dare let him notice ~~how good~~ the way it made her feel; that despite her life seeming to lack purpose, at least she was important to someone. So she just kept chewing away, giving him some stupid, goofy-ass face in response. And once they - mostly her - were done stuffing their mouths, her and Joel retired to the couch in front of a movie. It was another one of his favorite '80s action movies. Die Hard. She wasn't awake for much of it, opting to fall asleep on his shoulder instead, his arm wrapped around her like a security blanket. But that was... fine. _It was more than fine, it was fucking perfect._ Simple, but perfect.

And before she knows it, the short, six-inch tall fence lining the pathway through the cemetery is on either side of her, gravestones dotting the ground in all directions.

She pushes out an exhale, cheeks inflating, lips flapping about. "Here we are," she mutters to herself, his gravestone a mere thirty-or-so feet ahead.

When she approaches she takes note of a couple wilting flowers that have been left there. Probably from Tommy. Possibly from Maria. Maybe from other Jackson residents. Tommy and Joel were always heavily involved in the community. And everyone knew Tommy, thus transitively, also Joel, much to his chagrin. The younger Miller was always the one with the bigger mouth.

She halts her gait when she's about ten feet away, eyes tethered to his name etched in stone. Seeing it spelled out again has her brain flipping through all the ways in which she used to say it, a spectrum of tones ranging from angry, playful to even _yearning._ And just... _fuck._ Because here she is, finally, alone in a graveyard with his remains yet _I don't even know where to fucking begin._

So her voice simply trickles out of her mouth, dribbles down her lips as a mere peep. "Hey."

Quiet. Silence. Nothing but that gentle, autumn breeze weaving through the trees and those dried-up leaves again.

She clears her throat. "Mind if I sit?"

_What kind of stupid question is that? Just sit you idiot._

She groans, "ugh," and rolls her eyes. "Sorry," she says. "I've never done this before."

_Who the hell are you apologizing to? It's not like anyone can hear you._

She shuffles forward, all timid and for the first time in years unsure of herself, until his gravestone is within arms reach. It's only ten feet, but it feels like a mile, and once she gets there she plops down in the dirt, sits cross-legged and sets her backpack beside her.

She looks up to the sky, not a sliver of blue peeking through the thick, gray canvas of clouds. As she does so, another gentle breeze envelopes her, a few loose strands of her hair fluttering in it. She closes both eyes, sucks in a deep breath to take in the autumn air, mind sifting through what to say next. But she can't decide on anything because again _where the hell do I even start?_

Her eyes open, anchoring themselves to the dirt at her feet, nose crinkling as she makes a face, like it always has ever since she was little. She sighs, takes a moment to collect herself, then digs, grinds, _clumps_ the dirt atop his grave between her fingers, reminded that she's now the proud owner of only eight, not ten. And when she's done _feeling_ it she cups her hands together, scoops up a small pile of it and presses both lips into it to give it a kiss. She's not sure what else to do, but that feels right. And without thinking, the only fucking thing that matters, the only thing she _knows_ she wants him to hear breaks free from the confines of her mouth.

" _Fuck_ I miss you," she yelps. And it comes out slathered in pain, a borderline begging tone that's exceptionally rare for her these days.

She glances up to the clouds again, feels both eyes beginning to burn and sucks in a breath. "You have _no_ idea how much I miss you." And the confession comes out with an exhale like a river flowing through a valley.

_Actually Ellie, he does. You avoided him for nearly two years._

She sniffles, gently wipes both eyes with a sleeve of her hoodie because _fuck_ that realization carves her up like one of Maria's knives carving up their Thanksgiving turkey.

"You know, I had this whole speech prepared. I wrote it down and everything," she says, voice a bit nasal, then letting loose a chuckle. "But it's fucking useless at this point."

She pauses, takes in another breath, pondering what to say. "So... I'm just gonna say exactly what I'm thinking."

Her fingers pluck another cluster of dirt from beneath her, mindlessly grind it between them. "Just..." _This is stupid, don't say it..._

"Fuck it. Just please give me a sign you're here. Tell me you're listening."

The mere act of saying it out loud has her face flushing with heat, because she knows if he _were_ here and heard her say it she'd be embarrassed as fuck. But she doesn't have to wait long. Because seconds later a particularly strong gust of wind blows through her, sending a nearby pile of leaves swirling around the small bubble that is her and his grave. And in the strangest of ways that taste of iron is hitting her tastebuds again, coupled with a whiff of wood-oil trickling into her nose.

_Joel._

He once made a dumb joke about how the sound of the wind blowing through trees was the voice of the dead speaking to you. As dumb and silly as it sounded, she'll fucking hold onto it like gold right now because goddamn does she need it. And so she simply sits there in silence, takes it all in, relishing that just maybe, perhaps he's at her side once again in some weird, metaphysical way.

She clears her throat, prepares to embark on the emotional gauntlet before her.

"I'm _almost_ there. Accepting everything that's happened, forgiving you..."

She pauses. "But there's one last thing I have to do. This. I never got the chance to _be_ with you again. To say so many things I've wanted to say to you for so long. So here it goes."

What must be a full minute of silence goes by, nothing but the autumn breeze and her fingers toying with the pull-ties of her hoodie. She's quiet, _thinking,_ readying herself to truly say whatever. she. is. thinking.

"It's Fall by the way. Your favorite," she says with a subtle smile. "Thanksgiving will probably suck this year though."

_Not probably. Definitely._

"Oh yeah. I had my twentieth birthday," she says, tone going higher like that's something positive. And it sort of is, because living through any day (without Joel)in this world is a bonus. Though it takes only a second for a small frown to take shape on her lips and voice to soften. "But it kinda sucked," she says. "I couldn't even get Dina to come. At least Tommy was there."

She cuts loose a sigh, adjusts her hair, takes note of how much shorter it is than it used to be. When she was younger she had that mind-of-its-own ponytail. Joel would sometimes absentmindedly fiddle with it while they'd watch a movie or do something else allowing them to be stationary. She never once thought he noticed himself doing it. She noticed. But she never mentioned it. Wouldn't dare to, because she knows if she did he would've stopped.

"Dina doesn't talk to me anymore," she says, pausing only to pull a petal off one of the wilted flowers by his headstone. "I tried, you know... smoothing things over and shit. Tried to get her to understand."

She tosses the flower petal to the dirt with way more force than necessary. "But she didn't give a fuck about anything I had to say," she snaps, and it leaps from her mouth like a lizard's tongue snatching a fly.

Another glance up to the sky. Another sniffle, the threat of tears gnawing at her eyes again because no Dina is yet another cruel reminder of how much she's _lost._

"She did kinda smile at me the other day though, in town. I was headed to the stables to go on a patrol and passed her while she was leaving. Knowing Dina I'm surprised she's still doing patrols now that she's got J.J. But I guess I'm also not _that_ surprised."

She sighs again, eyes wilting like the dying flowers around her. "Anyway, I said hi. She didn't respond, just smiled. But that's... something? Right?"

"Speaking of patrols, I took your spot on the Teton County run with Tommy. Other than you, there are only two people I'd like to go on a patrol with, and one of them won't even talk to me." She scrunches her face, freckled nose crinkling again. "At least Tommy still does. I guess that counts for... something too."

_It sure as hell does. He's the closest thing to Joel you've got left._

Her eyes pull up, meeting his name carved into stone. "What if you didn't go on patrol that day? Or what if you and Tommy did a different route, something other than Teton?"

_C'mon Ellie. What the fuck is the point of asking that?_

"I wonder if Abby still would've found you."

She snorts, shakes her head. "That was stupid. Things happen and we move on, right Joel?"

But "moving on" from _this_ is just about the hardest thing she's had to fucking do. And all of a sudden her bony frame goes a bit limp, shoulders bowing under some invisible weight, arms laying still in her cross-legged lap. She chews on her lip, eyes narrowing, and feels a sudden pause in the wind, a stillness she hasn't felt all day.

"I let her go, you know." _Jesus_ just saying it out loud to him has her feeling guilty as hell.

She waits a second, clears her throat. "She was with some kid. Couldn't have been much older than I was when the universe brought us together back in Boston. And it reminded me _so_ much of... " her voice cracks, a small lump growing in her throat. "So much of you and me, _us._ The way she cared for him."

Her eyes go blank as they stare into the weathered headstone, like she's lost in her head because she's fucking _reliving_ that entire memory as she speaks. "I made her fight me. She refused to do it. But I _made_ her fight me, Joel. I... " she wipes both eyes, sniffles again. "I fucking threatened to kill the kid if she didn't."

Her gaze climbs back up to the sky. "Jesus fucking Christ..." she mutters under an exhale. But it only takes a moment before they recalibrate and are razor-sharp with focus, back to his headstone.

"I killed _all_ of those fuckers, except for her. I let her go," she states, and it comes out plain and blunt as fuck. "I couldn't kill her. Couldn't kill whatever bond she'd formed with that poor kid. And in that moment while I had my hands around her fucking neck all I could think about was our last conversation that night on your porch. It played in my head on a loop for months, and in that very moment it sped up, like we were fast-forwarding through a movie or something. Only it just played over and over and over again. It wouldn't stop."

She ropes in a deep breath, closes both eyes, only to open them and visually trace his name on the stone plaque before her. His name. It _still_ grounds her, even to this day.

"I had to forgive her. I had to let her take care of him. Like you used to take care of me." And admitting _that_ one, that she _let_ Joel take care of her has her feeling some weird combination of vulnerability and safety. And for whatever reason it's coming with a side-order of butterflies in her stomach, a long-lost (but not forgotten, no, never) feeling she certainly remembers when it was obvious he took care of her for the first time.

"I had to forgive _you_ , Joel. Seeing her and that kid... I think I finally understood why you did it."

"But now..." She grits her teeth, lets loose some sort of primitive, grief-stricken growl. "Now I don't even get a chance to see you anymore. To be with you anymore. To... fucking _live_ with you anymore. Did you know, that night I was gonna ask you to come over and watch a movie with me? Just like we used to? I was even gonna let you choose the movie."

She pauses again, scoops up some more dirt in her cupped hands and gives it another soft kiss.

"It makes me wish I didn't waste those last two years, all those days I avoided you," she confesses, parting her hands just enough to watch the granules of dirt fall through them.

She looks up to the sky again, eyes getting _just_ a bit wetter. "Fuck that was so stupid," she mumbles under a breath.

"I was so fucking pissed at you," she spits. "But the worst part was how miserable I felt without you around. It was torture. I couldn't be near you, but _fuck_ did I also want to be. There were some awful, shitty nights. I'd wake up sweating, screaming, shaking from some awful dream. And every time I rolled over to see if you were next to me, that side of the bed would be empty. And every time, before I let myself look, I fucking _prayed_ that you like, I don't know, snuck inside like... some sort of weirdo to keep an eye on me or something. I just hoped that you'd be with me."

"Remember that _really_ bad night during our first few months here? When I was... " she pauses, goosebumps popping up across her skin, because _that_ night had her feeling so many contradicting emotions her insides flip-flopped again and again. "When I was reliving David? It was horrible, but you... you were there. You held me, fucking snuggled me, clutched me close to you, and rode it out with me until I went back to sleep. And as twisted as it sounds I..."

She sighs, rubs her brow, pinches the bridge of her nose like she's ashamed to admit what she's about to say. "I found myself reveling in it. I never felt safer. I never felt more important to anyone than in that moment."

"You were there for me. You've _always_ been there for me. Unconditionally, and even in my darkest moments. You fucking..."

_God dammit this is gonna sound so fucking cheesy, but I don't give a shit..._

"You stormed into a collapsing, burning building to find me. You hugged me. You held me. You _always_ caught me when I fell. You told me what I needed to hear before I knew I needed it. You _were_ everything I needed when I needed it. You showed me what it meant to care. You were the first and a much-needed source of affection, and always at the times when I fucking yearned for it so badly it hurt. You taught me how to swim. You taught me how to do simple shit, like my fucking laundry. You taught me how to play guitar. You taught me how to shoot. You taught me how to _survive_. You helped me stop feeling guilty, ashamed and angry at myself for _living_ and thinking my life was pointless and had no meaning. We're different people, Joel, but _fuck_ you helped me become the person I am. We traveled across the fucking _country_ together, just you and I. I mean, shit, there were times when I thought you were part of me and I was part of you. Sometimes I felt so fucking _close_ to you, you know? And... fuck it. You know what? I _liked_ it. A lot. You were my rock. You were my foundation. You were my life-link. And as much as I didn't want to admit it, you were my everything. And at times I..."

Her voice trembles some, like it's teetering on a tight-rope, moments from crashing to bits. Another deep inhale. Another slow exhale.

"You know, I've never _needed_ anyone my whole life, Joel. But I realized I needed you like I needed air to _fucking_ breathe. And don't you dare think you didn't need me. I _know_ you needed me as much I needed you."

She pauses. _If not more. And I liked that too._

"If not more. And I liked that too," she reiterates.

"Remember that night at the radio tower in Pittsburgh? With Henry and Sam? Well, while you and Henry were 'bonding' over your motorcycle story, Sam asked me something that's always stuck with me."

She makes a face, nods, knows she still believes it. "He asked me what I was afraid of. I think I said something stupid at first. Something about scorpions being creepy or some shit."

Hesitation fills her, so she waits a few seconds, because she just about knows her life is nearing the point of what she's about to say.

"But when I really thought about it, I told him I was afraid of ending up alone. That was so fucking true. It still is. And you made sure to _never_ let me feel like I was alone. Ever."

She cringes, teeth grinding, her young-adult brain clinging to whatever scraps of keeping-it-together she has left. "Holy fuck I miss you so much," she sneers.

And all of a sudden another gust of wind rushes by. It feels like it swirls around her, another batch of autumn leaves twirling through his grave. It halts her momentary display of grief, until she's nothing but a still girl with big, round, glossy eyes. And before she knows it she's actually smiling _just_ a bit, a chuckle breaking free from her lips.

" _Joel,"_ she says under an exhale, smile growing in size.

And just like that she starts _laughing,_ looking all kinds of insane and stupid as she does so. But like she could give a shit in this moment.

"You better not be laughing at me for being a sap you asshole. Besides, like _you'd_ be one to talk," she prods, each word intertwining itself with her chuckles.

"Hey, remember all our Thanksgivings with Tommy and Maria? Or all our summers in that sweltering heat? And how you'd bitch about not having air-conditioning or whatever the fuck you called it? Remember the first swimming lesson you gave me? At that pond in the woods we'd go fishing at sometimes? And you nearly let me fucking drown you asshole?"

_Yeah, like he'd even let you get close. He had you and you know it._

"Oh!" she chirps, the next memory on the list of _them_ slotting itself in, ready to be recited. "What about my seventeenth birthday? Remember when you built that porch for the house in the backyard to hang-out on? And you cooked that huge meal for us? It was all supposed to be a surprise and shit, I know, but I got Tommy to tell me everything. And man, the look on your face when you realized I'd figured it all out. It was priceless."

She laughs again. It's full-bodied, from the gut and trailing off at the end with a light exhale. Like they've _always_ been from her. And she knows if he could hear it he'd pinch himself, because she damn well knew he thought it was the greatest fucking sound on the planet.

"I got that guy to spill the beans way too easily. Also, I had this image in my head of you wearing an apron, cooking everything in that tiny-ass kitchen of yours."

She clears her throat, lowers her voice to sound all serious and playful-like. "Ohh why thank you Monsieur Chef Joel Miller! The lamb special this evening was delightful!"

She chuckles again. Sighs again. "I didn't know you enlisted Maria for help though. Cheater."

She waves it off with a hand directed at his headstone. "Whatever," she says. "You're forgiven. Because it was... it was sweet. The whole evening was awesome. You did good two years in a row, Joel."

She goes quiet again, this time for a lengthy stretch. But it's not a bad silence, because she still has this subtle smile as she flips through memory after memory. Her brain spends a particularly lengthy amount of time on her sixteenth birthday, when he took her to the museum. And _that_ one has her smile widening so big it's as if someone drew it on her face with red ink. But...

It's not long until the other side of all this creeps its way back, however. And just like that her lips are falling to a frown again, a solemn expression usurping control of her face.

"I left pretty much everything at the farm, by the way. All my drawings, even the guitar since I can't even fucking play it anymore." And _man_ does that one cut deep like a knife through warm butter. "But I did keep one thing."

She reaches into her pack, sifts through it for a few seconds, pausing to admire what she's found when she finds it.

"I kept your watch. I won't give it up. I promise." _Because I'm sure as hell gonna need something to remember you by or I'll lose myself._

Then this playful smirk engulfs her face, voice rising a bit as she speaks. "Aaaand... I _may_ have taken your jacket off the coat rack at Tommy's place. I mean, he wasn't using it or anything!" she says in defense.

Within seconds those nimble, dextrous hands of hers are pulling the jacket out of her pack, too. She brings it to her face, clutches it, _squeezes_ it in both hands and sucks in a deep breath, taking in ~~his~~ its scent.

She lowers it to her lap, folds it gently, cradles it as if it were a small kitten. "It just..." she starts, only to pause and get momentarily lost in its worn and weathered fabric. And _goddamn_ does the smell of him bring back all kinds of memories.

_Just say what you're thinking, remember? Don't be a chicken-shit._

"It still smells like you. I like that."

Eventually she stashes the two artifacts safely into her backpack. But there's still a "little" something nagging her, chewing away at the back of her mind. She does her best to ignore it, because now seems as good a moment as any to finally say goodbye. So she nods, makes a face like she's okay with the outcome of what transpired here in the cemetery.

"Thank you Joel," she peeps. "For everything."

She pushes herself off the dirt, gently rising to her feet, eyes glued to his name on the gravestone.

"Well, I guess this is it," she says, ready to leave, a hand blindly reaching for her backpack.

But when it grazes a shoulder strap, it stops, freezes, just like the rest of her. _Ellie, you know what you want to say. Just fucking say it. What're you so afraid of?_

She blows a raspberry through an exhale then shakes her head, rubbing her eyes and cheeks with both hands to help summon whatever courage she needs.

"Actually..." she says. "There's one more thing." And she plops back down onto the dirt.

For some reason her heartbeat is faster than it was moments ago. Her face is flushing a bit. Her stomach has this weird tingle in it. And _goddammit_ there's this lump growing in her throat that she can't seem to fight off. So she sucks in a deep breath, glances down at her hands. They're absentmindedly picking at their thumbs again. That new, post-Joel nervous tick she's developed. But they're _shaking_ ever so slightly and they won't stop no matter how hard she tries.

Finally, she lifts her head, gazes into his headstone and speaks. "So... remember that night after Tommy's party?"

She stops, makes a face, brow rising like she's _waiting_ to hear a response from him though she knows it's ridiculous. And it's not until the wind picks-up again seconds later that she continues.

"We'd been in Jackson for about a year. You drank too much and stumbled home all depressed and miserable. Remember that?"

_I do. I'll never forget it. I nearly fucking panicked when I couldn't find you._

"I do. I'll never forget it. I nearly fucking panicked when I couldn't find you. But... after I sprinted home, saw you hunched over at the table and we _talked._ I..."

She stops, glances up at the thick, dense layer of overcast sky once again. "Oh my god why is this so fucking hard," she groans, eyes starting to water.

"I never felt closer to you than in that moment. You actually, you know... let me _in_."

A hand, whether she knows it or not, finds its way to her face. It scratches, pinches, massages, _rubs_ her cheeks, lips, nose, anything to provide a sensory distraction from the burning sensation in her eyes.

"I knew what you were about to say to me. And I didn't let you. I wanted it to be perfect, remember? I thought just knowing what you were about to say was enough for me. I thought about it for weeks, every day, after that night. But now I..."

 _"FUCK!"_ she screams, tears pooling at the base of her eyelids.

"I wish I had just let you say it because you never did after that. And now I'll never get the chance to hear you say those three fucking words. Not that... I didn't think you _did._ I knew you did, with every action, gesture, hug, guitar lesson, twirl of my hair around your finger, and that annoying-as-fuck and concerned 'where you off to kiddo?'"

She takes a gigantic, ocean-deep breath, tries to collect herself, swallowing hard to tame that stupid lump growing to the size of a grapefruit in her throat.

"I always thought you'd be the first to say it, not me. I couldn't _let_ myself say it before you. But believe me there were quite a few fucking times I wanted to."

Another pause. Another breath.

"So here we go. You win this one. I..."

Her hands start to shake a bit harder, face red with heat, breaths getting shallower. Her heart is pounding behind her ribcage, stomach tingling and doing all kinds of twists, turns and corkscrews like a rollercoaster. And when she opens her mouth to speak it's all hesitant and _cautious,_ like she's afraid to get hurt which _is absurd because there's nothing else this world can do to hurt you. It's thrown the worst at you already..._

"I..." her voice quavers, bumping over the lump in her throat. "I love you."

She pushes out a few short, quick breaths, a hand rising to cover her mouth because _oh my god I finally said it._ And all of a sudden she's _beaming_ like all the stars in a night sky and sweating and shaking and laughing and crying with tears running down both cheeks and there's that taste of iron and smell of wood oil again and _holy shit_ there's another _really_ strong gust of wind blowing through her once more...

"Oh fuck, I..." she stops, can't finish through her happy-sad laughs.

"I _love_ you," she repeats. "I love you. I love you. I love you. I _fucking_ love you Joel. I love you so goddamn much. And as I got older, I think I realized I've loved you ever since you lied to me that afternoon when we returned to Jackson. I was so fucking mad at you, but I also just... in some weird, screwed-up way loved you at the same time. I just didn't know it yet."

She wipes both eyes with a sleeve of her hoodie and sniffles, only to cut loose another stupid, teary-eyed chuckle that she knows has her looking like an idiot.

"I don't know how or in what way I love you. I don't know. I'm not sure. I can't define it. I just know I do."

She clears her throat, holds one hand in the other, pressing both of them to her chest over her heart. "And I always will. Until I die. I swear."

When she's done clutching his spirit, she reaches forward and gently traces a finger over the letters of his name. _C'mon Ellie, do you what you thought about last night when you couldn't sleep. You know he's listening, somehow..._

"So," she says, all nasal and clogged-up. "On the way to Santa Barbara, I went through this small, beachside town next to a university. In one of the houses I found a guitar and a bunch of pages of random songs and music. I picked up one of them, read the lyrics and decided I had to keep it. It made me think of you, made me think of us. I stayed there that night and learned to play it the day before I found Abby. I _wanted_ to play it for you, but you know... I can't anymore."

She sighs, mops-up the tears in the corners of both eyes with a finger. "So a-cappella will have to suffice."

She sucks in a breath, readies herself for the emotional, freight-train impact this might cause her. "This is for you, Joel," she says, cherishing the sound of his name like it's sacred.

"Here we go."

And she starts to sing.

"I could live in a different place, with a different house and a different name."  
"I could sing you your favorite song, yeah, you'd sing along, you'd sing along."  
"I could wrap you in your favorite clothes, and kiss your face just so you know. That I'm the one who has got your back, now turn around and don't be sad."

Tears stream down her cheeks. But she makes no attempt to wipe them away. Just lets them leave their watery trails across her skin.

"I hope you find the love that's true. So the morning light can shine on you. I hope you find what you're looking for, so your heart is warm forever more."

She smiles, all happy-sad and goofy, and starts to gently rock side-to-side, gaze plastered to his headstone.

"I could fly you away with me, to the furthest place you'll ever be."  
"We could smoke 'til the sun goes down, and without a sound, without a sound."  
"We'd fall asleep by the big blue sea, with open eyes so we could see. The way it shines for you and I, you know it'll shine until we fly."

The wind blows full-force, leaves swirling around her, her hair fluttering in it. And it yanks out another teary-eyed laugh from her that hides underneath the gentle tune of her voice and song.

"I could wait with you by the water. I could wait with you for the winter to come. I could stand with you with your snow boots on."  
"I hope you find the love that's true. So the morning light can shine on you. I hope you find what you're looking for, so your heart is warm forever more."

Her voice trails off, and she stops, sits in silence for minutes after finishing, _knowing_ that somehow, some way, he heard her. She sniffles again, kisses the palm of her hand then presses it against his headstone.

"I love you. Forever. I'll never forget you. I'll never forget what we had. What we shared. I'll never forget the way you... _loved_ me. I promise. And you promise me that... every once in a while, you'll let me know you're still with me, somehow? Okay?"

She gets up, pulls in another breath, wipes both eyes once more and collects herself. She feels a sense of calm, a feeling of peace she hasn't felt... _ever._

"Good bye, Joel," she says.

She turns around, a subtle, lingering smile across her lips, and walks along the path of the graveyard to leave. All the while that gentle, autumn breeze is with her every step of the way.

**Author's Note:**

> I needed to write something to tie everything off. This is a little self-indulgent, thus my personal take on the ending, meaning of the entire series and Joel and Ellie's relationship is woven throughout it. But I don't care. I had to write this. It was the only way I, myself, could find closure after the last seven years (yikes). I did my best to make this a meaningful, heartfelt moment for them while keeping Ellie in character. I may have pushed the envelope just a bit, but I felt the situation warranted it.
> 
> I interpreted Ellie letting Abby live as a way to break the cycle of revenge. And in doing so, she found a way to forgive Joel. I'm also 100% convinced that whether she says it or not, she loves him. Her actions in Part II speak louder than any words could. There are so many subtle - and blatant - things she does that tell you she loves him. And I, personally, don't think she would do what she did if she didn't love him. Much like Joel's actions in Part I. He wouldn't have done what he did if he didn't love her. Honestly, to me, the entirety of Part II felt like one, long, giant epilogue to Part I: Ellie coming full-circle to understand why Joel did what he did, to forgive him and ultimately realize that deep down, she loves him to death. Literally. Anyways, enough of my pontificating...
> 
> Unfortunately, 'Homecoming' features Joel coming-clean to Ellie, and thus is not exactly canon in light of Part II. That being said, you could squint and say that perhaps as she got older she went through different phases of her anger and grief when it came to Joel and his lie. Thus making their conversation at St. Mary's (the canonized truth-reveal by Joel) a bit believable in the context of my series. For that I apologize. But I wrote it before Part II was released, so there's not much I can do about it (nor want to). It is what it is.
> 
> Anyway...
> 
> The mention of the night in which she was reliving the horrors of David is a reference to 'Speak to Me'.
> 
> The mention of her seventeenth birthday is a reference to 'Gifts'.
> 
> The mention of Joel's drunken night after Tommy's party is a reference to 'Demons'.
> 
> This, 'Homecoming' and all three of those are part of the same series.
> 
> And last, but certainly not least, the song she sings at his grave is 'Shine' by Benjamin Francis Leftwich. It was released in 2011. I thought it was perfect in so many ways. I mulled over for quite awhile what she should sing to him. I had a few really good options in mind, but this one just struck a chord with me. Go ahead and listen to it while thinking of these two and try not to shed a tear. I dare you.
> 
> This was tough to write. It was hard. It was heavy. I nearly made myself cry multiple times. It helped me find closure with these two, their journey, relationship, and the Last of Us series as a whole. I hope y'all enjoyed it.


End file.
